


Like A Stray Dog

by agaybaddie



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Tenth Doctor Era, idek what this is, is this what you call poetic writing?, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 13:56:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12212646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agaybaddie/pseuds/agaybaddie
Summary: There was always a tension-not the usual tension there was in the afterglow. But we weren't usual, him and I. We weren't easy, ordinary or usual.And maybe that's what made leaving so much easier.





	Like A Stray Dog

**Author's Note:**

> something I came up with late at night. enjoy this dose of doctormaster.

He said he had a surprise for me, but left out the part of where it was covered in darkness.  
The flat was dim, and the only source of light came from the city outside. The warm light from the streetlights shed a mysterious feeling across the walls as I passed them by, taking one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Silence. Upon entering the room, what had become our room, the first sound besides my own feet hitting the floor came to my senses. His soft, excited puffs of breath as they left his lips, coming from further inside of the room. My movements picked up and my feet carried me faster across the floor, something I only later became aware of. It seemed almost pathetic how desperate I was. Desperate for something I could easily get from anyone else. What was so different about this? This game, the never ending game of cat and mouse. It didn’t matter. I reached my hands out blindly in front of me; searching, searching, searching. Fabric. I smiled, as I curled the familiar clothing into my fist, tugging myself towards the goal I’d been working for the whole night. His breathing hitched in his throat—out of shock or arousal, I didn’t know.  
Perhaps it was a mix of both.  
Perhaps it wouldn’t matter.  
It wouldn’t matter. 

"Took your time."  
His voice accompanied me in the room, husky and wet, and I didn’t know what kind of sound left my lips.  
A sigh, a moan, a groan. A mix of everything. Frustration.  
"Shut up."

My hands wandered up across his shoulders, to his neck, searching for his hands that weren’t by his sides, not this time. This was the surprise.  
I smirked, and he allowed a gasp past his lips as I tugged on the restraints around his wrists. I could tell he wanted to speak, beg even, but he held himself back.  
Self control. Or an attempt at it.  
Lowering myself down, our hips met as I straddled his lap and he leaned his head back, meeting my gaze. The warm light from the world outside illuminated his face, enhancing the lust in his eyes and making my legs tremble. I gulped. He smirked this time. 

"What now, Master?"

I'm like a stray dog; I never admit this out loud. He'd take way too much pleasure in it. He expects something else from me. Something different. A master plan. Or perhaps that's what I keep telling myself. To keep myself moving forward, to not get stuck in the past. Of course-that's where I am right now. Stuck in the past. What else would I be doing here?  
Pathetic. The nails dug into my back, bringing me back to reality. His hands were free from the restraints, and I hadn't even noticed. Too busy wandering in my own head. He'd noticed, I could tell. But he never spoke of it. We never spoke of much, actually. Moans and pained groans dominated most of our meetings, and I wanted to keep it that way. I'd never been good with words. 

Our bodies rubbed awkardly close together as I fell back on the bed. Nothing left to give.  
There was always a tension-not the usual tension there was in the afterglow. But we weren't usual, him and I. We weren't easy, ordinary or usual.  
And maybe that's what made leaving so much easier. 

I'm like a stray dog, wandering off with the tail in between my legs, knowing I should've, no, could've done better. But I didn't, because I know no other way than this. No other behavior. He tells me he wants to help, but that I need to let him in. I guess that's supposed to be therapeutic in some way. But it isn't - it can't be. Not when it comes from him.  
He's the drug that brings me up on my feet, the drug that welcomes me into heaven for a short moment, before kicking me back to square one. I can't quit it, I can't quit him.  
The only option left is letting it slowly kill me. And in the end I don't know what's worse - wanting him to be the death of me and at the same time hoping he'll choose to save me. 

I'm like a stray dog. I'll never be able to make up my mind.


End file.
